


Back to the Woods

by Jamiebb



Category: Faerie Folklore, Original Work
Genre: Apocalyptic, FTM, Fae & Fairies, Fantasy, Homophobia, Mild Gore, Original Fiction, Short Story, Swearing, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Violence, cottagecore but make it fae, its okay tho the bigot gets dead, references to deer hunting, written by a transman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25567426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamiebb/pseuds/Jamiebb
Summary: Jack, a young trans man inherits a homestead in the woods after his mother passes. Moving in lets him escape the stares and comments of the town, and his neighbor Morgan makes it easy to adjust to his new life. But is there something more to the woods he now calls home?short fiction set in a future where climate change is rampant and American theocracy is worse, but not everything's been ruined just yet. Can't a man settle down in the woods and have some peace.I wrote this for a class about environmental apocalyptic fiction, so there's that. I swear it ends good.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

_ Back to the Woods _

_ Content Warning: descriptions of hunting, homophobia and transphobia mentions, use of f and t slurs against trans male protagonist, violence, mild gore, swearing, futuristic christianity (portrayed negatively), mild horror, I'll put a note on the specific chapters too. This ones got a little bigotry and jesus. _

The air smelled sweet, if a little dry, as I stepped out of my car. An Ohio summer’s warmth wrapped itself around me, a gentle breeze ruffling my newly shortened hair. The woods in front of me overflowed with light and life. Sweet bird song drifted through the air, and the ground was covered with bright living green to match the canopy above. I still couldn’t believe this was all mine. I turned back to the truck to grab a box, when I saw a woman coming up the road.

“Hello?” I called. She looked up and waved. She wore jeans and a light linen shirt, both well worn. It was hard to place her age, anywhere from a few years older than me to as old as my mother, elegantly pretty, yet worn from hard work. When she reached me, she held out her hand.

“You must be Jillian.” 

“No, I’m Jack.” I took her hand and shook it.

“Oh, not sure how I learned your name so wrong. You are Cindy’s youngest, right?”

“Yeah, and you are..?”

“Morgan, I knew your mother, I own the other half of the woods.” she gestured vaguely into the forest. “I’m so sorry, I heard about Cindy, so sudden. Does this mean you’re the new owner?” she didn’t speak quickly, but she was straightforward, making the conversation feel fast without the usual meandering.

“Yeah. Mom, Cindy, left me the cabin property. She knew I always wanted to get away from the city.” This seemed to garner Morgans approval.

“Good. And the farmland? Is that yours too?”

“No. It went to Jade and Scott. He’s planning on selling it to some developers looking to expand the town into a suburb.”

“Jade should never have married that boy, he’s ruining a perfectly good farm. It would be better to lie fallow. No one needs anymore city.” I hadn’t realized how far my brother in laws reputation reached. Then again, if she knew Mom she would have heard her complaints.

“I can’t help but agree. That's actually why I’m here. I plan on making the old cabin into a homestead.” Her look turned suddenly to one of suspicion.

“You’re not one of those New Evangelists, are you?” she shifted a little away from me, as though wary. Then her concern for the farm made sense.

“No, no. Cindy would never have forgiven me. We never believed in that stuff. I’m not going to clear cut or anything, I want to live with the land, not ‘spread my dominion over it’.”

“Good, it makes me feel better to have a neighbor who’s not going to bulldoze anything.” She looked up with sudden realization. “I’m sorry, I’m keeping you from moving in. Do you need help moving everything?”

“I can do it, I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Nonsense, you’ll need to learn to take help if you want to live out here. Neighbors are there for one another.”

I accepted her help, and we spent the afternoon moving boxes, bags, and equipment into the old cabin. I was glad for her help, as the trail up to the cabin was longer than I remembered. Luckily, everything was in as good of shape as the last time I visited. Morgan asked after me the whole time, making sure I knew what I was getting into, and reminding me she would help whenever I needed it. She also told me to come by her cottage sometime, for dinner, and, when my gardens and game came in, to trade with her. She apparently kept bees and sheep, along with a well established garden. She was an odd woman, lacking certain social graces, but seemed very kind. Morgan made for a much better welcoming committee than I had received in town when I stopped for supplies.

Everyone in the store had given me sideways glances while I shopped. This far from the mega cities, you don't need to wear a pollutant mask all the time, so I could see every mark of disapproval on their faces. I had moved away from town some years back, but the people who lived here hadn’t forgotten about the porch drop baby Cindy had adopted. Every gossip in town had their own theory as to whose bastard child I was, though no clues were forthcoming. I didn’t help my case by openly transitioning either. I think people would have been downright cruel had Cindy not recently passed on. They did, at least, still have some sympathy for the newly re-orphaned.

I spent the evening cleaning and getting the cabin running. The well pump still worked, but I set up a purifier and rain barrel just in case. Even an hour from town and hours from the nearest city, I worried about polluted groundwater. I set up a temporary stove until I had wood for the old one, and set up my bed. The rest of the unpacking could wait till tomorrow. As I drifted off to sleep, I was surprised by the abundance of sounds. There were as many noises as in the city, but softer, more natural. The trees in the wind, crickets chirping, owls hooting, and even the quiet creek of the cabin itself. I hadn’t fallen asleep this calmly since I moved away.

I was awoken late into the night by a chilling howling. It was almost too high to be a howl, nearly a scream. I got scared for a second, and then remembered the foxes that lived here. There are no foxes in the city, I had forgotten the scream they made. Feeling stupid, I went to the window to see how close to day it was. It wasn’t. But I was rewarded with the sight of a dozen or so fireflies, dancing in the trees. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen fireflies, they were so endangered they might as well be extinct. I was glad Cindy had left me the cabin, I needed this back in my life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just living in the woods, dealing with the town bigot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading chapter 2  
> Warning: he visits the town and there's a homophobe who uses slurs against Jack. Also there's a discussion of hunting and animals being eaten, mild gore.

A few months passed, and fall was coming. They had been busy months, a lot of work needed to happen to make this place livable in the long term. I set traps for small game in the woods, and planted a garden. Much of the seed came from Morgan. Oddly enough, she always seemed to have just what I needed, right when I ran out. She saved me several trips to town, which was good. Most people seemed ambivalent towards me, but a few were more openly disdainful. Whether that was because I was so queer, or because they couldn’t imagine living in the woods, I will likely never know. It didn’t matter much though, I had work to keep me busy, and Morgan for company. She visited for dinner every so often, usually bringing some wool with her. She was teaching me to use a drop spindle, and on days it rained too much to get any work done, I enjoyed spinning the wool she left for me. The more we talked, the more oddities I picked up on. For example, her directness never wavered, always blunt and without the exaggerations and sarcasm most people used. Sometimes I wondered if she had gotten lead poisoning when she was younger, but if she was about Cindy’s age, or even a little younger, there would have been laws to prevent the use of lead, unlike now. It seemed more likely that she just didn’t have visitors that often, and so had no need to learn these social things. 

Her odd personality extended to her cottage. It always looked like something out of a fairytale- stone walls, covered in ivy, and a thatched roof- perfect. But then she would say something like, “Careful, those are poison oak.'' ruining the storybook image. There were always various plants and herbs drying, hung from the rafters, eccentric but necessary out here. And everything inside was truly handmade, right down to her pots and pans-made from hammered bronze. I asked her why once, expecting a lecture on the harms of mass manufacturing, but instead received the nonchalant, “new iron is just so crude.” which, for her, is likely the same thing. 

She gave me odd advice too. She once told me never to follow lights into the woods- I think she meant not to chase fireflies at night, I imagine one could get quite lost that way. Or, “Leave out a bit of the sheep's milk I give you, to keep your ground larder safe.”. This did seem to work- any curious fox (many, by the sound of it) would drink it instead of digging into the covered pit that I made as a cellar. Sometimes the advice was less serious, like telling me to take down the old rusty horseshoe a previous owner had nailed over the cabin door because “its ugly, tacky, and it makes you look like those superstitious New Evangelists. Always trying to keep things out.” I humored her since it didn’t matter to me, but clearly offended her eccentricities. My favorite oddity was the pendant she gave me, “To keep you safe. Wear it always.” It must have been a relic of an old religion. I was moved that she would give me something so valuable, even if I didn’t believe in it. 

I enjoyed my life out in the woods. With Morgan's help, I had a functional homestead, away from the toxicity of my brief city life. I felt closer to Cindy too, somehow. I think she would have wanted this for me, she had been the one to make it possible after all. I think I could live this way very comfortably for the rest of my life.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As winter came in earnest, something started getting into my snares. Every time I went to check them, I found leftovers in an un-sprung trap. Whatever predator this was, it was clever enough to recognize that the bait I put out would draw prey, giving it an easy meal. I moved all the snares and traps, but it seemed to only take a few days before they were found again. I still caught enough small game to be alright, but it was frustrating to find potential meals stolen. At first I suspected it was a fox. I had been hearing fox cries more frequently at night, and they seemed clever enough to do it. But as it got closer to spring, I began to find large tracks. I could never find one distinct enough to be certain, but by the size and general shape, it looked like there might be a bear responsible. It must have woken up early, and have been looking for easy meals. 

My suspicions were confirmed the next time I went to visit Morgan. Two of her sheep were loose, and in the clearing were they usually grazed, I found evidence of the third. Not that there was much, a little bit of fluff and a lot of blood. I guess a sheep just isn’t much against a bear. I got worried then, because I didn’t see Morgan anywhere. I called out, once, twice, nothing. I began to fear the worst, but on the third call, she stepped out of the clearing behind her woodshed, looking unconcerned.

“What brings you here?” she asked brightly.

“I saw one of your sheep while I was out checking snares, so I herded it back here, that’s when I saw..” I gestured to the sheep blood. Morgan ran to the spot and began to cry softly. I hadn’t realized she cared about the sheep so much, I assumed she saw them as more of a utility. This was evidently untrue, so I hugged her while she cried. When she was done, she wiped her eyes, and said,

“Well, I suppose it had to be. At least she’s part of the cycle now, a necessary sacrifice to nature.” This was the response I had expected from her. 

“I think it might have been a bear. I’ve seen big tracks near my snares, and something keeps stealing my game. It must have finally gotten hungry enough to go for a sheep. You should be careful Morgan, I was worried it had gotten you too.” She laughed at this, and said,

“Don’t worry, I’ve dealt with bears before. I’ll just need to keep a better eye on the sheep. Don’t you worry.” This did nothing to lessen my concerns, but I didn’t think I could change Morgan’s mind right now. I helped Morgan take care of the sheep, and then went home, doubly concerned about the possibility of a bear now.

As spring came, fewer of my traps were robbed. Maybe the bear had found better prey somewhere else, still, I didn’t like the thought that it could be out there. I had to put it out of my mind though, it was almost deer season. Morgan said this used to be earlier in the year, more like September, but I suppose the rapid weather change had moved the time for many things. While I didn’t strictly need a license to hunt, I knew the fines for taking a buck without tags were expensive. The only people who hunt now are trophy seekers, not looking to sustain populations. I didn’t plan on taking a buck, does tend to have better meat, but I’d take whatever I found to make up for the snare stealing. It was cheaper to pay upfront for a trophy than get one, be found out, and face a fine for cheating some rich guy out of his thrill seeking. 

As I drove into town, I passed Cindy’s old farm. It was all barren dirt now, Scott having bulldozed every living thing away. There was a big sign by the road, with a cross that must have been more than six feet tall, proclaiming the New Evangelist neighborhood that was soon to be built. It was sad, destroying all of this land and covering it with concrete. And for what? New homes no one in need can afford? It definitely dampened my mood. The property sign also reminded me I’d need to register my license to mine and Morgan’s land, since I had her blessing to hunt it. In her usual eccentric fashion, she had told me, “Hunt on my half of the woods. There are fatter deer, since I never hunt them. But please, take only one, the first one you see, and no more.” She was very careful to cultivate the population and life cycles in these woods, probably one of the last people to do so.

When I got into town, I went straight to the main filing office, prefering to get done and back to the woods as quickly as possible. There were a few people lined up, likely coming to do the same as me. They looked well off, and would no doubt ‘hunt’ corralled trophy deer, to show off to their friends, disgusting. I recognized a few people, but no one I knew well enough to care. A man came in after me, I think he recognized me. He had never liked me when I lived here growing up, likely due to my lack of church attendance. I did my best to ignore him. 

When it reached my turn in the queue, I began filling out the paperwork, showing ID and the note from Morgan proving she had given me permission to hunt her land. If nothing else, property law had tightened up, helpful, in this case, for keeping rich poachers away from your land. As the clerk looked up the appropriate lot numbers to put on the license, he let out a little surprised hmm as he flipped through the records.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, concerned Scott had done something to my deed without my knowing.

“No, not wrong, just interesting. The deed for Ms. Morgan’s lot is very old, a couple hundred years actually, a true pioneer’s lot. Must have been kept in the family a long time, she seems to be named after the original owner.” he turned the records book around for me to see, and sure enough on the photocopied page, a weathered document had the signature of one ‘Morigan’.

“That is odd, but so is everything about Morgan. Does seem like she was raised out there, though.” I shrugged, deciding to ask Morgan about that the next time she seemed inclined to answer personal questions. 

“I suppose so, “ the clerk replied, “Now, what will you be hunting with?”

“Compound bow.” I responded, continuing to fill in the forms. From behind me I heard, 

“Of course the faggot uses a bow, probably scared a gun might hurt the widdle animals.” in a whisper just too audible to be an accident, emanating from the man behind me. I spun around, fists clenched,

“Excuse me?” I bit out.

“You heard me.” He replied smuggly. Only the knowledge that he was probably trying to provoke me into causing a scene kept me from decking him. But I couldn’t afford to let him play the victim.

“Whatever.” I said, bitterly, and turned back to finish the paperwork and pay. He held his smug silence over me as I finished quickly and exited, eager to get home before my day could be ruined further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, next chapter (final I think) added in a bit. Please leave kudos and comments, all are much appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes to a head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one thanks for reading!
> 
> Warnings: bigot, uses the "T" slur, guns, bow hunting, poaching, gore (not from hunting, from the woods)

As I started my deer hunt, I became increasingly paranoid that there was something in the woods with me. Whatever had been tearing through my traps and coming after Morgan’s sheep was following me, I was sure of it. More and more I saw those bear tracks on my walks. Morgan continued to ignore my warnings. She laughed it off, repeating that she had dealt with bears before, and that they were just another part of the wood’s cycle. I worried about her, since the tracks always seemed to move between our properties, circling hers. I think it’s after her other sheep. I would buy a gun if I knew how to shoot one, or if I had the money. I carry my bow with me, and I tell myself it’s so that I can take a deer if I see one, but I know it’s to make myself feel better about the possibility of meeting the bear. I kept thinking about what that man in the store had said, about how weak my bow was. He had just been trying to nettle me, but he did have a point. I wasn’t sure I could kill a bear, if it decided it was interested in me.

A tree branch cracked, off to my right, and I started to panic. But then I heard the soft steps that followed. No bear could walk so quietly. I readied an arrow, hoping for a doe. I slipped around the bushes, only to see a man in an orange vest. Actually, the man from the town center. My heart beat slowed, my fears of the bear ebbing away. I waved to him.

“Hello?” I called, confused. He turned, lowering his rifle.

“Oh, it’s just you, Jill.” his mocking tone unrelenting, I cringed. “What are you doing out this far in the woods?”

“Deer hunting. You should be careful, we’ve had bear sightings out here.” I called back, ignoring my irritation. He nodded, seeming distracted. I tried to think of what by, and then it dawned on me. “Hey, this is still Morgan’s land, what are you doing out this far?”

"I could ask you the same thing." He said back quickly.

"Morgan gave me permission to take a deer, besides aren’t you a trophy…" and then I remembered Morgan's unhunted bucks, and it all clicked together in my mind. "You're trophy poaching!"

I knew instantly that I shouldn't have said that out loud. He pointed his rifle right at my chest, his mocking turned to outrage.

"What are you going to do about it, fucking tranny? Are you going to have to have a little hunting accident?"

I felt white hot fear, shaking to my core. This man hated me, wanted my existence wiped off the map, and I had made him angry. Alone in the woods. And he had a gun. In that moment, I knew how I was going to die.

I tried to think-dodge, run, make a distraction, but my thoughts couldn’t get farther than the barrel of his gun. As the fear burned through every inch of me, I closed my eyes, and…

Crunch. Leaves under a heavy foot. Then the crack of a large branch snapping. 

The bear.

I opened my eyes, hoping the poacher would have turned towards the sound, but he hadn’t. He seemed to be savoring my terror. Between the gun and impending bear, there was a lot. Then, another crack, a rustle of bushes parting, and a looming shadow raised itself behind the poacher. It kept rising on its hind legs, taller and taller. Then it stepped into the light of the clearing, and I forgot about the gun. I could finally see why the tracks stalking the woods had been so large. 

The shadow was not a bear.

I screamed. The poacher laughed, until he realized I was no longer looking at him. He turned, moving the gun away from me, and froze upon seeing this thing. The unnatural figure before me resembled no animal that I knew of. It was gray, though I could not tell the texture of it’s skin. And it’s limbs were too long, like a human stretched around overly long bones. Every part of it resembled another creature, but wrong in a million little ways that rendered it incomprehensibly terrifying. I was not alone in my screaming. The creature moved forward with fluidity, and leaned down over the poacher. Its jaw unhinged, and then there was as much left of the poacher as there had been of Morgan’s sheep. I could not scream anymore, I could not move. No muscle responded to my desperate plea to run. It turned towards me, blood slobbering down its front, and slunk to me. It extended one long clawed finger to my chest, and lifted Morgan’s pendant from my chest. It nodded, and then began to change.

If it’s still form was too gruesome to grasp, the transformation was more than a human was meant to record with their eyes. Bones and skin were moving, cracking and reforming. I was transfixed and disgusted until it resolved into its new shape, a human woman.

Morgan.

I fell on my hands and knees and threw up, she leaned down, and cupped my face in her hands. She stroked my cheek to calm me and whispered gently, “I didn’t mean to scare you Jack. I would never hurt you, you care for my woods. I never meant you to see this, but I couldn’t let that man hurt you. Besides, he wanted to take more deer than the cycles would allow. Rest now, you have seen too much.” After that, I remember no more. It was more than I could take in my reality, so I shut down and blacked out.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I awoke in my bed, safely inside my cabin. No sign of Morgan, or the... creature...she apparently was. I wasn’t sure how to feel. I was glad the creature, no, Morgan, had saved me from being shot. But how could I know she meant what she said about not hurting me. As I stared at the ceiling in contemplation, I remembered a snippet of an old fairytale Cindy used to read to me.

“And the fae’s Wild Hunt chased the thief who stole their game, merrily running him down for sport, then came after the mayor who cleared the forest to build for man,taking him much the same, but left the orphan with a light tread and respect for their woods alone.”

I tried to puzzle it all together in my head. I needed to figure out how I felt soon, I had promised Morgan I would come for dinner tomorrow. If there was one thing I did know for sure, Morgan hated broken promises. Maybe as much as she hated poachers and city builders. Perhaps I should give Scott a warning call. Or invite him over for lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you liked it. Please leave comments and Kudos, they are much appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading any and all comments and Kudos appreciated. Its already finished so next chapter will be up in a bit.


End file.
